Black Mountain IV—the fourth album (obviously) from Northwestern stoners, Black Mountain—proves that the whole is greater than the parts. Black Mountain grabs your attention with fantastic songwriting, arranging, and orchestration and those qualities overshadow—in a good way—what are often stellar individual performances. IV leans heavy on contrasts, dynamics, and textures to create an overall mood that permeates the entire album. It’s a mood that adds cohesion throughout a varied—but not too varied—selection of songs.
Critics love to talk about Black Mountain’s obvious influences, but they’re missing the point. Black Mountain is not a ‘70s tribute band. Despite vintage gear and analog tones, they manage to carve out a sound that is fresh, modern, and uniquely theirs.
Not that those influences aren’t important. It might be lazy to compare Black Mountain to Black Sabbath (sorry, heavy riffs don’t mean you sound like Sabbath—heavy riffs are rock n roll), but other influences are more apparent. On IV, the big one is ‘70s Pink Floyd, which is thick in some places. Songs like “(Over and Over) The Chain” and “Space to Bakersfield” would be at home on Animals or Wish You Were Here. “Defector’s” chorus sounds a lot like “Young Lust” from The Wall. But comparisons to Floyd are only skin deep. While Floyd can get boring or whinny, Black Mountain have a brooding and depth that gets under your skin and makes their long jams strangely addictive.
But Black Mountain doesn’t jam per se—they aren’t the Dead. Black Mountain’s jams are compositional—they brood, build, and draw you in. IV’s few solos are compositional as well, they add additional layers and contribute to the oeuvre. And for the most part it works. The eight minute epics on the album—and there are a few of them—are wonderful hypnotic jams. They are great driving songs—great for staring out the window at the dotted lines passing by on the highway. Shorter songs break up those long pieces and give a nod to—of all things—‘80s alternative pop. Examples include the anthemic unison vocals and early punk guitar chords on “Florian Saucer Attack” and the Thomas Dolby-style synth stabs over the very ‘80s guitar ostinato on “Constellations.” But again, talking about influences obscures what is really Black Mountain’s secret sauce: careful arrangements and powerful orchestration.
The members of Black Mountain know when not to play. That’s a big deal. Guitarists and keyboardists often noodle for the sake of doing something. In Black Mountain, they sit out until needed—an extremely musical approach to arranging that makes each instrument’s impact more effective. The few guitar solos are a case in point. There aren’t many, but when they hit—like on “Mothers of the Sun”—they allow a brooding groove to climax and for the song’s tensions to resolve. It is a minimalist approach and shows unusual restraint for the sake of the song.
IV’s weakest link are its lyrics. “Ain’t no foolin’, we’re back in school. Ain’t no foolin’, when you’ve been fooled.” I mean, that’s some trite shit—but I am not sure if it matters. You don’t listen to Black Mountain for deep or clever lyrics. Black Mountain is a vibe. It’s a dark mood. You stare at the highway and forget about time. The vocals are another color and the words are something for the singer to do. (Although the lyrics in “Cemetery Breeding” are pretty funny.)
Sonically, IV is a tour de force. The guitar tones—from the opening riff on “Mothers of the Sun” to the end of the album—are meaty and ballsy. The synths and funky oscillations are awesome. The acoustics on “Line Them All Up” give Amber Webber a platform for a standout vocal performance. But ultimately, it’s the composition as a whole—the whole package—that makes IV stand out. It’s an album that sounds great on first listen, but even better as it grows on you. Has Black Mountain evolved since their 2005 eponymous release? I am not sure.
But I am not sure if that matters.